


No Limits (Just Epiphanies)

by Krasimer



Series: Falling Off An Edge (Looking As You Leap) [1]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Depressed Robbie Rotten, Elves, Fae Robbie Rotten, I just wanted to play with headcanons, I may continue this in the future., M/M, Partially inspired by the cold weather in my area, Robbie is not his real name, Robbie is not immune to Sportacus's charms, Sportacus has a crush, Sportacus is Íþróttaálfurinn's son, Sportacus makes sure Robbie eats something and gets warmth in the winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:17:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9259901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krasimer/pseuds/Krasimer
Summary: The air he was breathing froze in his throat and Robbie's eyes were wide when he looked at Sportacus again. "...What did you just say?"Those damnable blue eyes were focused intently on him and he wanted to hide from them. It felt too revealing to be seen by them, that had always been a problem between them. Robbie took a step back when Sportacus sighed. "Robbie," he began, his voice back to quiet. "Please let me help you."





	

It was so damnably cold.

Robbie rubbed his hands together, blowing into the curves of the hollow between them. His fingers were pale and his sleeves stopped just short of covering his wrists. He had put off building a heater into his home for so long that doing it now felt like a betrayal of his own laziness. 

If there was one thing he liked about himself more than his laziness, it was his pride.

Glaring at a wall and mumbling to himself, he grabbed the few blankets he kept around his chair, pressing his face into it and curling his entire body onto the seat. For how much junk food he ate, he was too thin to produce his own heat and he wanted to be warm but it wasn't happening. The blankets helped a little, despite how thin they were, and his body curling in on itself made the slight difference in his shivers, but he was still freezing. His shoulders shook and his head ached, a pounding sort of a headache that meant he'd gone without getting up for food for too long. Too lazy to do anything, he thought with a small twinge of guilt. It just meant he was a good villain.

Lazy and proud of it, even with his jaw clacking together and his hands turning an odd shade of yellow.

If he ate, he'd be warmer, Robbie thought, peering around the chair to look at his kitchen area. That required getting up, however, and he'd finally arranged himself in a way that made him the warmest he could be. Untangling himself now felt like a bad idea, the possibility of sleep pulled away from him and not given back for another week if he did.

A misbehaving child whose toy was taken away, his grandfather would have said. 

Robbie valued his sleep, what little he could get, and it would be an even colder day when he took on a normal schedule. His family had come from a land of ice and snow, he thought viciously, I should be able to handle this just fine.

Obviously he'd be a little angry, but that was just his personality. No one liked him because he was a grouch and a grump, that was all there was to it. He had always been that way and he would always be that way. Even if a certain elf tried to step in and cheer him up, there was no kind heart beating in his chest. It was cold and harsh, just like the weather around him, so it made sense for him to be in the cold and feel like this. 

He deserved it.

With a sigh, Robbie let his eyes slip closed, the blankets clutched close to his face, and he fell asleep.

When he woke up, it was to the scent of something in the air that smelled wonderfully like food.

The blanket that covered him was thicker than the ones he remembered wrapping around himself when he'd fallen asleep. The pattern on it was soft, a gradient shift between a few shades of purple, and he almost smiled as he ran a hand over it. The material was soft too, like it had been washed until it was worn but it felt new. Unused fabric always felt different and he got caught up in petting it for a moment before he heard something clatter softly to his right.

Turning slightly, Robbie nearly jumped out of his chair, the frightened claw of his fingers catching in the orange fur and keeping him from toppling out of it. "What are you _doing_ ," he grumbled. "In _my_ house, Sportadork?"

Blue eyes focused on him when the other turned slightly, an expression on his face like he was thinking about something. After a moment, he sighed. "I had heard that your lair was cold," his voice was softer than usual. "The children say that you look cold when you leave it and since it is underground, I thought that they might be right. It turns out," he glanced around briefly. "That they are right. You were shivering in your sleep, so I brought you a blanket. This," he held up a bowl that Robbie hadn't seen before. "Is going to be filled with soup. I also brought bread."

A snort came from Robbie's side of the room, the taller man rolling his eyes. "What, did you bake it _yourself_? Your concern isn't needed."

"You are going to freeze to death," Sportacus shook his head. "We play at being enemies. It amuses the children. I would not be a good hero if I were to ignore someone who needs help, even if that someone likes to play the villain."

He ladled something steaming into the bowl, crossing the room with it and settling it gently into Robbie's hands. "And yes," he smiled briefly when Robbie took it, confused. "I did bake it myself. It uses honey in the recipe, so I figured that you might like it better than what I sometimes make for myself. If you would like, I can bring a slice or two over for you, but you should eat it."

"You think I'm playing at being a villain?" Robbie sneered at him, trying to ignore the warmth against his hands, wanting nothing more than to clutch it to his chest.

"I think you are a little like me, sometimes," Sportacus kneeled in front of him, crossing his arms and leaning them on the arm of the chair. He put his chin on them, studying Robbie's face. "We both pretend. The only problem is when you keep pretending no matter what."

"I am not PRETENDING!"

Sportacus nodded, standing up in a fluid movement and reaching out to cup his hand around Robbie's chin. "Okay Robbie," he said, the same gentle tone he always used. It was the same tone he used when Robbie tried to pull off a scheme or got angry at him.

He patted Robbie's cheek once, let his hand slide off his face as he stepped away, then pulled his jacket on and left through the hatch.

Robbie was left in his much warmer lair, clutching a bowl of soup to his chest and looking after the blue boot disappearing from sight. "I-" he swallowed his words, blinked once, twice, then again. The soup was still steaming, as warm as it could be without burning him, and he held it even tighter as he leaned back in his chair. "...What?"

xXx

When Robbie was little, his mother had been a shield from the world around them. 

Her father had been a cantankerous old bastard, bitter to the very end of the time Robbie had spent around him. After she had passed away, he had been left in the man's care, his own father having disappeared. His grandfather, Glanni, had been more than frustrated to be held back by a then-one-year-old Robbie. He had been nearly cruel in his rules, enforcing silence at all times unless he spoke first.

Even then, it wasn't always a guarantee that he'd want to hear someone else speak.

Robbie sighed, wrapping his arms around his knees. Sportacus's words had been bugging him, the accent that grew slightly thicker when the man seemed sad ringing in his head for days now. Maybe he was pretending, he thought, clenching his hands around his knees and squeezing them tightly until his knuckles went white. It felt like there was nothing left in his chest, no breath, no air, no lungs, like someone had hollowed him out and left him to be thrown away.

Broken things go in the garbage, the bitter memories of his grandfather growled the words out. The words were in a language he hadn't spoken out loud in decades, not since he had been nearly still just a child, but he remembered them. Well enough to throw them at himself, at least.

His shoulders shook as he moved a hand, pressing it against his forehead and closing his eyes. Robbie sighed, trying to ignore the fact that he was still freezing despite the improvements to his lair. Sportacus, whatever else he had done to the place, had left enough food in the fridge to feed him for a week or two. Despite his own love for the stuff, there were very few sportscandies, the soup made to be rich and savory. The bread he had left was, indeed, sweeter than Robbie had expected it to be.

"Have you moved at all since I left?" 

He started, his eyes wide as he looked up. Shock overrode any other response as he snorted. "I put my bowl away," Robbie mumbled. "Washed it. Laziness doesn't mean letting things rot. The air gets miserable to breathe if that happens."

Sportacus's smile was kind as he shrugged out of his jacket.

" _Why_ are you back?" Robbie curled back into himself, hiding half of his face behind his arms.

"I think you know why," Sportacus walked across the room, his normal antics absent as he studied Robbie's face. "You seem to have gotten more sleep. That's good," he eventually made it to Robbie's side, kneeling at the arm of the chair again. "The children are playing in the snow today."

"Good for them," Robbie couldn't help but prepare to snarl. "Let their fingers _freeze_."

Gentle hands took Robbie's fingers, massaging softly to get the blood flowing. "I got them to play in the park on the other side of the neighborhood," he smiled at the arched eyebrow. "Stephanie was happy to hear about an untouched area of snow to play in. The children wanted a snowball fight."

"...So why are you here?"

"I wanted to come see you," Sportacus's hat was somewhat sideways, the sky-blue color of it sliding back to reveal a small curl of blonde hair. The edges of the thing still covered his ears and Robbie found that he was glad. Ears always got cold, damn them, and Sportacus...He didn't know if the man got cold or not. "I can play with the children another time, but there is very little time to come find you and make sure that there's food in your belly and a blanket wrapped around you. You do not like the cold and the snow, so I figure that I can spend some time making sure that it isn't bothering you."

Robbie blinked a couple of times, then frowned at him. "I should be used to this," he grumbled tiredly. "This is the sort of weather I grew up in."

"That does not mean you should suffer through it," Sportacus's eyes were almost sparkling and it made Robbie want to shove a hand in his face and push him away. There was an odd clenching in his chest and he didn't want to examine it too closely as it only happened when the man was around him. 

"I am meant to suffer," he rolled his eyes and tried to stand up, frowning again when a warm hand pressed against his side and kept him in the chair. "What?"

"Meant to suffer?"

Oh, had he said that out loud? 

"None of your business, Sportanose. Now, get out of my house and I won't load you into a cannon and shoot you out of town," Robbie pushed his hand away and it went easily. "For today, at least."

"Robbie,"

"No!" Robbie scowled, waving his hands through the air. "I don't know why you're acting like this, we're not friends, we have _never_ been friends-"

"Vinsamlegast láttu mig hjálpa þér."

The air he was breathing froze in his throat and Robbie's eyes were wide when he looked at Sportacus again. "...What did you just say?"

Those damnable blue eyes were focused intently on him and he wanted to hide from them. It felt too revealing to be seen by them, that had always been a problem between them. Robbie took a step back when Sportacus sighed. "Robbie," he began, his voice back to quiet. "Please let me help you."

He was still leaning against the arm of the chair, his body curled low to the ground, and it made something inside of Robbie feel more at ease. It was involuntary, something he didn't know how to stop, but he felt safe with the man in front of him. "Help me with what?" his own voice was hoarse now, surprise and shock and a little bit of fear pulling at his mind. He hadn't heard that language since he was younger, his grandfather shouting in it as he ran out the door and didn't look back. "And how did you know?"

"I have my own family," Sportacus's smile was still gentle, still understanding, still willing to project safety at him. "And I am a hero. Tíu, if we're going by the language we both speak, my father was númer níu. My father came up against a villain at times, and when I write to him I do tell him about my days in this place. Lazytown is a pretty little þorp, I am glad to protect it and the people who live here," he stood up slowly, his hands raised in a reassuring gesture. "My father asked what you looked like when I started telling him about you."

"Why does _your father_ know what language I know?"

"Because his old enemy has settled with age and searches for his grandson," Sportacus looked a little guilty at that. "And when I described you, he provided a picture of his old nemesis. He sent it in a letter to me."

"Kindness only to return me to him," Robbie's upper lip pulled back, revealing oddly sharp teeth. "Only reason anyone does anything is to help themselves. I knew that even you wouldn't be above that. What did he promise you, a favor? That old man would like nothing more than to have a target for his abuse and I _left_ when I was much younger and I am _never going back_ ," he stepped further away from Sportacus, as if a few more inches would keep him any safer if the man decided to flip over to him. "You can tell him-"

"I haven't talked to your grandfather, Robbie," Sportacus shook his head at Robbie's glare. "I really have not."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I believe that everyone should get to choose what to do with their life," Sportacus's hands were still in the air, as if he were trying to prove that he wasn't a threat. "Even when everyone around them is trying to force them to do something else. I am here to encourage healthy living, not going back to what obviously made someone unhappy and scared."

"I'm not scared!"

"...Can I show you something?"

The change of topic made Robbie stutter to a halt, his anger calming slightly. "What?"

"I have something I need to show you," Sportacus repeated. "It may explain some things for you. And perhaps, perhaps for me as well."

"Go right ahead, I have no idea what you could possibly show me that would make any of this less confusing," Robbie pushed his face into his hands. "You've brought me food and made sure I ate some of it and then you brought me blankets and a heater and talked about the grandfather I haven't talked to in decades and _I don't know what you want._ "

Still moving slowly, Sportacus reached up with one hand to remove his hat, tugging it off the tips of his ears.

Instead of the rounded edges of a human's ears, Robbie found himself staring at the pointed tips of an Elf's ears. They were tinged faintly blue and he wanted to run a finger over them. "You're an elf."

"Yes."

"Then you know-"

"What you are, yes," the elf's hands were clasped tightly around his hat, nervous and almost endearing. "And I am trying to take care of you because I..." he sighed. "Robbie, you are wonderful to be around."

Robbie made a face. "I am a nuisance and horrible and evil."

"Says the man who has failed to run me out of town when we both know you could easily just wish me away and I would go," Sportacus's eyes were bright again. "And even if no one else were to think so, I think you are wonderful to be around. The children also like having you here. Your disguises and schemes make their days fun and everyone deserves to have fun."

"...You're a very short elf," Robbie muttered, his cheeks flushing.

Sportacus giggled, actually _giggled_ , and nodded. "And you are a very tall fae," he responded after his laughter had subsided.

They sat there for a moment, both of them thinking, before Robbie broke the silence. "Why is my grandfather looking for me?" he let himself step closer to Sportacus. "When I left he hated me."

"My father tells me that Glanni Glæpur has always been...Difficult to get along with," Sportacus tried to put it gently, almost kindly. "But I do not know why he is searching for you so intently now, all I know is that he is. My father does not know what sort of child Glanni had, either, so I do not know much else to tell you."

"My mother was his daughter."

"Ah," Sportacus's ears twitched as he mulled it over. "Robbie, could he be looking for you to apologize for whatever it is that he has done?"

"What he did was treat me like nothing and yell all the time, so I would imagine not," Robbie shrugged. "And...Einar."

"Einar?"

"I figured on my grandfather never being able to find me if I took an English version of his name," Robbie looked away. "It has worked _thus far_. If it continues to work, I will be happy. End of story, that's all there is to it. Einar is...Mine. Einar Glæpur. Not Robbie. If it matters."

"It always matters," Sportacus's smile was back and the remaining cold in his chest melted away like it had never been there. "Which one would you prefer I use?"

"Everyone up there knows me as Robbie," he muttered, his cheeks heating up again. "And it feels too...Personal for them to know the name my mother gave me. Maybe it's time for a change," he paused, then pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and walked back to his chair, settling into it. "If he's looking for me, though, I don't want to be easy to find. Especially without knowing _why_ he's looking."

Sportacus faced him, holding out his hands, his hat back on his head but his ears uncovered. "We can figure it out together," he took Robbie's hands when the taller man held them out cautiously. "If you let me."

"Such lovely words, elf," Robbie's grin was betrayed by the worry in his eyes. "You're going to have to show me that you mean them."

**Author's Note:**

> Icelandic is a strange language and I find myself wanting to learn it. 
> 
> Hello, everyone, your friendly neighborhood Krasimer found another fandom to be in. I may as well stop bitching about finding new stuff to write for. It's going to happen. I should just let it. 
> 
> "Vinsamlegast láttu mig hjálpa þér." - Please let me help you  
> þorp - village  
> Tíu - ten  
> Númer níu - number nine


End file.
